


The Chair Incident

by Plenoptic



Series: The Indecent Reign of Maestro da Vinci [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cock Rings, Fluff, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Rimming, Role Reversal, Rope Bondage, Teasing, bottom!Volpe, haha what's editing, there's a chair, top!Niccolo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenoptic/pseuds/Plenoptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Machiavelli's vengeance is most assuredly a thing to be feared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chair Incident

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZerosGirl01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZerosGirl01/gifts).



“Tell me again where you stumbled upon this little idea?”

“Leonardo.”

Niccolò Machiavelli rolled his eyes skyward. “Of course.” He tugged experimentally on the cord binding his wrists above his head. “Leave it to Leonardo, lover of a thousand men.”

The thief crouching down in front of him tilted his head back and arched his eyebrows. “You’re hardly one to talk.”

Machiavelli knocked his knee gently against Volpe’s head. “I never wanted a man until I met you.”

“Mm.” Volpe caught the offending leg and pressed his mouth to the inside of Machiavelli’s knee, looking up at him with softly heated eyes. “Thank Christ for that. I’d kill any other man who’d had your sweet little ass.” He reached a hand around his lover’s frame to grip the aforementioned muscles, smiling when Machiavelli’s eyes narrowed. “I like this idea more and more with every passing moment.”

“Indeed?” Machiavelli rested his head against his stretched arm, biting his lower lip when Volpe teased the bottom clasps of his coat open with deft fingers. “I don’t know that I’m patient enough for this.”

“It will be worth it.” Volpe stood upright, pulling Machiavelli’s coat open and testing the binds around his wrists before leaning in to slick his mouth with soft kisses. Machiavelli pushed into him hungrily, licking his way into Volpe’s mouth with a quiet moan, rolling his hips against the thigh that slipped between his.

The thief pulled back, licking his lips with a smile, and took two steps backward to appraise his prize. It had taken some work to get a hook fixed to the ceiling, and some research to find the best knot to bind up his lover, but the end result was well worth his labors. Machiavelli was trussed up like a pig headed for slaughter (an indelicate but accurate metaphor), his arms stretched above his head and bound at the wrists by a length of silk cord. His hands opened and closed, restless, gripping the cord for handholds, making the muscles of his chest and shoulders tighten and flex beneath his clothes. There had been some wrestling and rough kissing involved in getting him tied up, leaving his cheeks flushed and his normally neat hair tousled, sticking up at odd angles.

Volpe chewed on his lower lip, lowering a hand to massage the appreciable bulge in his hose. “Fuck. _Tesoro_. I’ll be damned if you’re not the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop that,” Machiavelli growled, pulling against his binds. “Are you just going to leave me hanging here while you have your fun?”

“Mm, maybe.” Volpe grinned, looking more wolf than fox in his heat. He swept his cape off of his shoulders, letting it pool on the ground while he approached his prey, cupping Machiavelli’s face and brushing a thumb over his mouth, softly swollen from kisses. “I’m going to put it on, if that’s alright.”

“If you insist.”

“It will give us more time.” He wrapped his hands around Machiavelli’s hips, pulling their bodies flush. “And I’ve so desperately wanted time with you.”

Machiavelli ducked his head forward, stealing a fleeting kiss, a caress of mouths that left him hungry and wanting. “I love you.”

Volpe smiled widely, his gaze softening, and nipped Machiavelli’s lower lip before dropping to his knees. He pulled down the younger man’s hose with one deft movement, leaning in to trail his tongue along the ridge of the exposed pelvis. He slid a hand into the pocket of his tunic and withdrew the other brilliant idea Leonardo had left him—a little strap of leather, lined with holes, a clasp on one end. He fastened it around the base of Machiavelli’s cock, securing the clasp before leaning in to run his tongue up and down the warm shaft, purring when the younger man bucked into the touch.

“Oh—fuck—”

“Sensitive, are we?” Volpe murmured, turned his head to lick the hollow of Machiavelli’s hip.

“What’s—what is—” Machiavelli stopped and drew in a long breath, collecting himself, but it was hard to do with his sultry lover kneeling at cock level. “What’s the purpose of that?’

“It keeps you hard,” Volpe replied, not at all abashed. “Keeps you from coming—before I’m ready to let you, that is.”

“Leonardo?”

“Leonardo.”

Figures. Machiavelli let his head hang back, scowling at the ceiling. Next time he saw the manic inventor, he was going to hit him or kiss him. Maybe both. He said as much to Volpe, and earned himself a sharp nip to the sensitive skin beneath his navel for his cheek.

“Don’t,” Volpe growled, his tongue warm and wet along the younger man’s abdomen, tasting him. “If I find you kissing Leonardo, I won’t ever let you come again. I mean that.”

“As if you could stop me…” Machiavelli smiled languidly, pushing against Volpe’s knee with a foot. “Well? Get on with it. _Amore_.”

Volpe looked up at him, his dark eyes simmering. He got to his feet with slow deliberation, looking his young lover up and down before deciding on a plan of attack. Machiavelli’s shirt was pushed up and over his head, exposing the heated flesh of his chest and stomach. Hands roughened by violence cupped his neck, tipping his chin back so Volpe could plunder his mouth.

“Niccolò.” A hot gasp against his lips, a tongue caressing his, slick and needy. Volpe broke away with a harsh exhale, tracing his thumbs along the proud line of Machiavelli’s jaw before letting his touch wander, mapping collarbones made prominent by the stretch of his lover’s arms, coiled expanses of muscle made hard by years of training. He walked around his lover in a slow, idle circle, pressing up against Machiavelli’s back and sliding his hands down to grip his hips, grinding his hardening length—still tucked in his hose—against the pert ass.

“Beautiful boy,” he purred, leaning in close to leave a soft, suckling kiss against his lover’s nape. “You want me to take you? Hm? Fuck you?”

Machiavelli bit his lip, swallowing a groan when deft fingers teased his chest, leaving tantalizing little touches that didn’t _quite_ satisfy. “A little early to be expecting me to beg, don’t you think?”

“Never.” Volpe found a hard nipple and gave it a twist, smiling when Machiavelli grunted, a low, sweet sound that made the thief’s swollen cock twitch. “I thought I’d try my luck.”

“Well, try harder.”

Easy enough. Volpe stepped back, shucking his boots and pulling down his hose, breathing a low sigh of relief when his erection was freed. He gave himself a few languid tugs, stepping close to his lover and rubbing the head of his cock against the cleft of Machiavelli’s ass. The politician shivered, widening his stance and letting Volpe grind against him, a shaky moan escaping him when fingers teased the space just behind his balls.

“Oh, fuck—there—”

“Mm? Good?” Volpe dropped to his knees, kissed the small of Machiavelli’s back and trailed his tongue downward, parting his lips to leave a sharp bite against his ass.

“Ow!” The young man flinched, craning his head around to glare at the grinning thief. “That hurt, you shitwit.”

“Did it?” Volpe returned his attention to the sweet spot he’d found, his smile widening when Machiavelli’s growling turned to hitched groans. His hose stretched around his ankles, tangled up on his boots, keeping him from stretching his legs as wide as he wanted. “Someone’s getting restless.”

“Am not,” Machiavelli bit out, arching his hips away from the tongue that swept the cleft of his ass, teasing his hole. “That’s—are you sure?”

“I happen to enjoy it.” Volpe wrapped an arm around the trembling knees, rubbing a thumb against his lover’s entrance. “Ezio had a word for it—mouth fucking?” He smiled, wedged himself closer to his lover and licked him again. “Not bad, hm?”

“It’s—accurate.” Machiavelli closed his eyes, gave himself over to the sensation. “Gilberto…”

“Not enough, I know.” Volpe circled him again, shuffling on his knees, but kept his hands on his ass. He dipped his tongue into his lover’s navel, trailing wet kisses down his abdomen and stopping just short of his cock.

“Oh, for the love of—”

“Easy, easy,” Volpe said, chuckling and taking Machiavelli’s erection in hand. He leaned in to lick the tip, releasing a breathy moan against the heated flesh. “I probably don’t tell you this enough, but I love your cock. Your ass.” His voice lowered, turning husky, almost a growl. “Every inch of you.”

“Show me,” Machiavelli murmured, entranced by the sight of that soft tongue flicking out to tease the swollen head of his cock, rocking his hips toward Volpe’s mouth.

The thief smiled, his eyes glinting, and dragged his teeth along the length of Machiavelli’s hard member, delighting in the small, struggling noises he earned in return. He loved having the boy at his mercy, and he knew Niccolò desperately needed to surrender his control every so often. The young politician was caught up in a world of power and intrigue; their time together let him abandon it, let him give himself over completely, cut him free of his responsibilities and the masks he wore to please Italy. Volpe loved being there for him.

“ _Tesoro_.” He mumbled the endearment against his lover’s skin, and then he took him in his mouth, swiping his tongue along the head of his cock before sinking down, sucking hard. Niccolò cried out and bucked against him, toes curling inside his boots, his knees shaking.

“Mm—f-fuck.” Machiavelli turned his face into his arm, biting his sleeve to keep from shouting when the head of his cock teased the back of Volpe’s throat. He loved this—being the one to penetrate, yet feeling inexplicably that he was the one being fucked. “Swallow.”

Volpe did as he was told, and the suction was so good that Machiavelli almost sobbed, jerking his hips forward to fuck himself into that warm mouth. The thief grunted, grabbing hold of his lover’s ass and pulling him forward, his tongue lashing at the sensitive, leaking head of the younger man’s erection. He drew back with a gasp, pulling in deep lungfuls of air while he slid a hand between his lover’s legs, massaging the space behind his balls and smiling at the soft, keening noise from above him.

“I like this,” he purred, running his teeth along the length of leather bound around the base of Machiavelli’s cock. “Christ, it’s made you bigger. Look at how hard you are.” He pulled threateningly on the strap when Niccolò kept his face pressed against his arm, eyes squeezed shut. “Look at me, _tesoro_.”

Machiavelli cracked an eye open, peered down at him, and closed it again with a groan. “Just fuck me.”

“Oh, no. Not yet. If you came now, that would ruin all the fun.” Volpe got to his feet, retrieved their bottle of oil and slicked up his fingers, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “Now, then. I’m going to take care of myself. Whether you get taken care of is entirely up to your behavior.”

Niccolò arched an eyebrow but didn’t respond. There was a game to be played, it seemed, and damn if he wasn’t going to play to the best of his ability.

Volpe pulled off his tunic, baring the long expanse of his hardened body, and—facing Niccolò—slid a hand down his own buttocks, biting his lip when he massaged his entrance. “Oh, Christ. It’s been too long since I did this.”

“Let me see,” Machiavelli said, his voice a low, hard growl. His cock was throbbing, begging for attention. “Gilberto, turn around.”

“No,” the thief replied, his tone light and casual, and moaned theatrically when he slid two fingers inside himself. He pulled a chair up, straddling it and bending forward to get his fingers deeper. The tall chair back obscured even his proud cock, and Machiavelli growled again, his hands tightening around the cord keeping him bound.

Volpe mewled, enjoying making his lover suffer almost as much as he did the sensation of being filled and stretched. It wasn’t nearly enough to make him come, but the thought of Niccolò’s cock inside him made his guts boil with want. He pulled his fingers out and got to his feet, kicking the chair aside and approaching his lover with sure, confident strides. Keeping his hips angled carefully so their erections wouldn’t touch, he stood up on the tips of his toes to kiss his younger lover, letting their tongues tangle and slide together before stepping back, licking his lips with a hum.

“I love the way you taste,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over Niccolò’s swollen mouth. “I’ll be putting this to good use later, I think.”

“Gilberto…”

“Hush. I still have need of you now.” Volpe trailed his hands down the sides of his lover’s body. With his arms bound, getting Niccolò fully undressed was impossible; they’d settled for leaving his coat open, leaving him looking prettily disheveled and debauched. Volpe grinned, hooking a hand into Niccolò’s belt and using it as leverage to pull the boy’s body forward. “Hm. This will do nicely.”

He retrieved the chair and planted a foot upon the seat, dragging it back until his ass was pushed up flush to Niccolò’s hard length. They both moaned when Volpe ground his hips back, the rough edges of the leather strap rubbing against his entrance and making his cock jerk against his belly. He took hold of Niccolò’s belt in one hand and his cock in the other, lining him up with his hole and using his leverage on the belt to pull the boy forward.

Niccolò gasped, hips jumping toward the pressure that enclosed his member, moaning at the slick slide of his cock into Volpe’s body. “Oh, f-fuck. Gilberto.”

The thief groaned back at him, pushed on his hips and then dragged him forward by the belt again, his soft sounds of pleasure turning to snarls when Niccolò thrust against him, buried himself in his lover to the hilt before he was pushed away. Volpe pressed his forehead into the chair, breathing hard, using the belt to fuck himself on his lover’s cock. It was deep and slow, filling him until it almost hurt. The head of Niccolò’s cock nosed against his prostate with every thrust before sliding in deeper, a hard glide that made Volpe nearly see white with every pull.

This was good. Holy fuck, was this good. Volpe bit his lower lip, grinning and moaning out his lover’s name, a little thrill of excitement racing through him at Niccolò’s answering growl. He must make use of his _tesoro’s_ body like this more often.

“I want to come,” Machiavelli murmured, hitching his hips a little harder and pushing himself deeper into Volpe’s ass, resisting when the thief tried to push him back.

“Not yet.” Volpe pushed harder, gasping shakily when Niccolò’s cock slid from his body, and turned around, breathing hard. He grabbed Niccolò’s coat by the lapels and pulled him in for a long kiss, plundering his mouth and leaving his lips slick and swollen. Niccolò tilted his head forward, chasing his lover’s mouth and groaning when Volpe pulled away.

“Untie me,” he said, pulling hard against his bonds. Volpe smiled and shook his head, standing a comfortable distance away and grabbing at the head of Niccolò’s cock, pulling him horizontal, his grin widening at Niccolò’s tortured groan.

“I don’t want to give you up. I like having you as my plaything.” He pulled his lover in for another kiss, moaning against his mouth when Machiavelli ground against him, smearing precum across his abdomen. “Relax, _tesoro_. This is out of your control.”

Machiavelli scowled,  shivering when one hand slid around his neck, the other around his lower back. He was tugged into the older man’s body, his mouth assaulted with slow, hot kisses. After a moment’s resistance he opened, thrusting his tongue against Volpe’s with unapologetic hunger. There was something soothing about just kissing, about being held. Volpe broke their kiss to trail his lips along the side of Niccolò’s neck, biting at his pulse and sucking until he bruised.

“Ass,” Niccolò mumbled, tipping his head to the side with a soft sigh when that tongue swept along the base of his throat. “How am I supposed to cover that?”

“You’re not. You’ll walk around Rome and everyone will know that you’re spoken for.” Volpe ground against him, taking both of their erections in his hand and pumping slowly while he leaned in to brush his lips against a pert nipple, delighting in Machiavelli’s soft moan. He laved attention on his lover’s chest, worshiping the hard planes of his body, trailing his lips along a scar beneath his collarbone. Niccolò’s breath was ragged, hot little gasps spilling from his mouth seemingly before he could stop them.

“Let me come,” he snarled, turning his hot gaze down on his lover. He was so hard it hurt. “Or—”

“Or what?” Volpe laughed, grinding leisurely against the boy’s body and leaning forward to kiss his chin, smirking when Niccolò jerked his face away. “What do you intend to do?”

“Is that a no?”

“Of course it’s a no. I like having you trussed up like this.”

Machiavelli rolled his eyes. “Just remember I gave you a chance.”

“Wh—” Volpe froze; something had creaked ominously above his head. Machiavelli’s shoulders flexed, and the thief looked up just in time to see the hook pulled free of the ceiling. “Oh, fu—”

He broke off with a loud grunt when he was tackled to the ground, Machiavelli’s teeth on his throat, hands pinning him to the floor. Volpe struggled, trying to gain back some leverage, but it was a lost cause; he hadn’t been prepared, and now he was trapped beneath a riled, angry, painfully aroused assassin.

“There we are.” Niccolò sat up on Volpe’s hips, smirking and shaking his hands free of the silk cord, rolling his shoulders. Volpe watched him with his mouth agape, entranced by the sight of the tight, smooth muscles in motion. He desperately wished his _tesoro_ would spend a little more time shirtless. “Now, what shall I do with you?”

“Wait—” Volpe was too late again, and he swore he was flipped onto his stomach, his arms trapped behind his back. Niccolò bound his wrists with ease, taking the free ends of the cord and pulling, forcing Volpe to follow him to his feet.

“Better. Much better.” Machiavelli paused to shuck his boots and shake his hose off from around his ankles.

“Dammit, Niccolò—” Volpe grunted when he was pushed into the wall, a low moan wrenched free of his mouth when a hand cupped his ass, groping him roughly.

“Now, now, Gilberto. Reign in your temper. You had this coming.” Niccolò massaged the other man’s testicles, smiling at the thief’s sharp intake of breath. “While I’ve got you here, I think I’d like to ask your assistance. I’ve a line I’ve been working on, tell me if it rings true. ‘If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.’” He thrust himself against Volpe’s ass, biting his lip to stifle a groan at the delicious friction. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re an idiotic, narcissistic, strutting _peacock_ ,” Volpe snapped, still wriggling. It couldn’t be said that the famous fox didn’t know how to use his teeth. “Now let me go.”

“No, I think not.” Machiavelli slid his hands over the thief’s ass, around his hips, and gripped his erection firmly. “You’re going to pay first. You made the mistake of poor preparation, Gilberto. And I will tell you now that _my_ vengeance—” Volpe shivered, transfixed by the dark purr in his lover’s tone “—is _very_ much worth fearing.”

Volpe swallowed audibly, craning his head to look over his shoulder at the younger man, this boy turned animal. “We’re both reasonable men, are we not? There’s no need to—” His breath let him in a hot gust when a devious thumb rubbed against his slit, and he let his eyes fall closed with a low moan. “Oh, God. _Tesoro_.”

“God’s not here.” Niccolò bit his shoulder, still grinding rudely against Volpe’s ass. “But I am.” He turned away briefly to retrieve the bottle of oil, slicking his cock and lining it up with Volpe’s entrance. “Spread your legs.”

“I—”

“I said…” Niccolò slid two fingers into his lover’s body. “ _Spread your legs_.”

Shuddering, Volpe complied, delighted at this new turn. Niccolò had a forceful personality, but he was usually content to surrender power in the bedroom; his dominance was an unexpected but desirable development. Volpe cried out when he was penetrated by a hard cock, pressing his face against the wall.

Niccolò sighed, leaning forward over Volpe’s slightly shorter frame, planting his hands on the wall on either side of the thief’s head. “Good boy,” he said in a purr, mimicking the way Volpe usually crooned down at him when he was being fucked. He rocked his hips into the older man, licking his lips before lowering his mouth to his lover’s back, leaving soft kisses up and down his spine and across his shoulders.

“Niccolò.” Volpe’s murmur was low and reverent. “You know how much I love you.”

“Yes,” Niccolò replied simply, his voice a husky whisper. “I know.” He thrust harder, relishing Volpe’s tortured cries.

“Take me to the bed. Please, _tesoro_. I want you.”

Machiavelli pulled himself free, grasping his cock at the base and gritting his teeth against his desperate need to come. With a hand on his own erection and one twisted in Volpe’s hair, he pulled the thief to the bed and pushed him down on his back, covering his body with his own. He dipped his head so they could kiss, dragging his mouth down Volpe’s throat and chest, sucking marks into his skin. Volpe arched against him, incoherent, his cock leaking on his stomach. Niccolò gathered his precum on his fingertips and slicked his cock, remembering at the last moment to undo the strap of leather still constricting his need before thrusting back into Volpe’s body.

“Ah!” Volpe’s hips jerked up, his teeth pulling at his lower lip. “Mm, fuck.”

Fuck indeed. Niccolò slid his hands beneath the thief’s thighs and pushed his knees up to his shoulders, shuffling closer so his hips were flush to Volpe’s ass. The new angle was impossibly deep, making them both groan.

“Go,” Volpe said hoarsely, trembling against his lover. “Go, I won’t last.”

Niccolò could only grunt in reply, sliding his arms beneath the thief’s legs so he could press his hands into the mattress by Volpe’s head. With a little angling and stretching they managed to kiss, tongues tangling hotly while Niccolò’s hips pumped with almost ruthless intent. He swallowed Volpe’s mindless cries, wroth to let their mouths part even to draw breath. His climax was building, a tight heat that started in his gut and spread outward, pulling every muscle taut.  

Volpe came with a soft sob, cock spilling hot seed across his abdomen and chest while his hips rolled and bucked. Niccolò fucked him through it, chasing his own release and moaning against Volpe’s throat when his cock gave one hard throb and climax rippled through him. Volpe mumbled, shifting when he felt his lover come inside him, so deep it hurt.

Breathless, Machiavelli pushed himself up on braced arms, shakily pushing Volpe’s sweaty hair from his brow. “G-Gilberto.”

“Mm.” Volpe licked his lips, dry from panting, and winced. “ _Mio caro_ , if you would… my arms…”

“Oh—sorry—” Machiavelli slid his hands beneath his lover, undoing the knot and pulling the silk away. Volpe sighed his relief, stretching his arms over his head with a long groan.

“Shit. I’ll be damned. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I’m full of surprises.” Niccolò pulled his hips back, flinching at the sensitivity of his softening length and moaning into a deep kiss when Volpe caught his mouth. “Are you alright?”

“Better than that.” Volpe looked down at his debauched body, swiping a finger through his cum and rubbing it against Machiavelli’s chest, chuckling at the dark scowl he earned in return. “It’s not fair that I’m the only dirty one.”

“Yes, but I’ve got _hair_ on my chest, you ass—ugh, that is disgusting.” He got to his feet, ignoring Volpe’s laughter and upending water basin over his head, wiping himself more or less clean before returning to the bed. “Get up.”

“No, please—”

“Get up or we sleep on a wet mattress.”

Volpe pouted, reluctantly getting to his feet and shuffling to the large bathtub in the corner. He stepped in and bit his lip, shivering when he was doused in cold water. Niccolò rubbed him clean with diligence that was almost adorable, dipping a hand between Volpe’s buttocks to wipe away the cum that had leaked out.

“Stop wriggling,” Niccolò chastised, swatting a hand against Volpe’s ass before stepping away and tossing him a towel. “Dry yourself.”

“Do it for me,” Volpe said, his whine increasing in pitch when Niccolò looked at him incredulously. “Please?”

“Oh, for…” Shaking his head, Niccolò returned to him and toweled him off briskly, rubbing the towel over his wet hair before settling it over his shoulders. “There. Better?”

“You, too.” Volpe pulled the towel free and tossed it over Niccolò’s head, rubbing his scalp with too much enthusiasm, making the short dark hair stick almost straight up. “I wish you could see yourself. You’re so cute.”

“Babies are cute, Volpe. Dogs are cute. I’m a man grown.”

“And a cute one at that.” Volpe tugged on the ends of the towel, pulling his lover closer for a warm kiss. “My _tesoro_ , my beautiful boy. Come to bed with me.”

“After all that? Are you out of your mind?”

“I mean sleep with me,” Volpe chuckled, cupping Niccolò’s face in his hands and caressing his cheeks. “Hm? Stay with me. I detest it when you slip away after we make love.”

Niccolò visibly chafed at his phrasing, but he nodded, letting himself be kissed once more before turning toward the bed. Volpe caught up with him after clambering out of the tub, wrapping both arms around the young man’s waist and pressing kisses to his bare shoulders, laughing when Niccolò, disgruntled, tried to push him off.

“I love you.” Volpe pressed his nose to the back of Niccolò’s neck, smiling against his warm skin. “ _Tesoro_.”

“I know.”

The thief chuckled, running his hands over the younger man’s chest. “That’s not the correct response.”

Niccolò sighed, turned around in his lover’s arms and pulled him close, letting their mouths brush, kiss. “You know how I feel about you, Gilberto. I've said it once tonight. Would I let you touch me as you do if I didn’t love you?”

“No. I know you.” Volpe smiled, kissing the boy warmly. “Come on. To bed.”

They tumbled down atop the coverlet, kissing slowly. Niccolò curled up against Volpe’s back, pushing the older man’s hair off his neck and dropping soft kisses against his nape. Their touches became lazy, meandering; Niccolò would never admit to it, but he loved this quiet after their passion, the sensation of Gilberto’s body on his, warm and strong. He slipped off into sleep with his arm slung around his lover’s waist, his mouth pressed to Volpe’s shoulder, breath warm against his skin.

Gilberto smiled, tracing a gentle thumb over the knuckles of Niccolò’s hand, reaching back to ruffle the sleeping boy’s hair. “Sleep well, _tesoro_.” He let his eyes fall closed, releasing a long breath, and sleep swallowed him up.

  
  



End file.
